I am Lebanese - no, not that kind, the other one.

It took me a while to realize that the trajectory my education, cultural choices, and life choices had taken had made it somewhat difficult to really pinpoint a place or culture I belong to. It started off as a high-nosed policy when I transferred from an American school (which influenced my reading, education, and language choices then and later on in life) to a Lebanese English-speaking school. The reason, I think I now understand, why there is any power felt in speaking English, which drove my superior attitude is the influence that several kinds of imperialism have had in this region, fueling, in their path, the conviction of the superiority of the foreign (the French and the English/American) and the inferiority of the Arab. This might not be present in all levels of society, but it carries weight and underlies many of the elements of the so-called Lebanese culture. Why then do so many of us speak in English or French to our children, refuse to accept that Lebanese people have an "accent" and, if they do, try to squash it out before anyone else can hear? Clinging to our Arab heritage (whatever that is) and the language is a conscious and even difficult endeavor.

At university, I thought I began to understand why I, personally, felt confused. I couldn't identify with he culture my parents projected or with the culture that many of my friends carried. I had ideas that were frowned on, and hobbies and interests that people just shook their head at. We read DuBois in an American Studies class, and something clicked. This sense of being separated, split, cut into two made sense. I was influenced by two cultures. And as I had also learned the importance of language and reading in transmitting culture, it suddenly all made sense. My identity was that of the post-modern, the globalized, the person in whom more than one culture lived, and sometimes clashed. And as we read more, I realized I had gone past DuBois into a world where having split identity did not necessarily mean that I had lived in more than one place. The power of culture spread through modern imperialism was overwhelming as it was silent and pervasive. I had resolved the problem, and I could live my life knowing I was colorful, creative.

This theory is not necessarily true, and as I grew older and realized that the deep sense of superiority was a large part of this belief, and as the Arabic language and culture became more interesting, as did the Lebanese, out of a conscious effort to understand them, the problem became a more serious one. A large part of this new-found confusion stemmed from my having become more interested in Islam, and eventually transforming from a person who had inherited Islam to a person who believed in this faith. A lot of the things that I had believed could be adapted to my beliefs, and fell under them, like feminism (which became more focused as I understood my roles, etc.) and philanthropy....

But the problem that this caused is that I now had something else to grapple with. Part of a culture is people's socialization, attitudes toward life, and their general lifestyle. As I became more religious, as it were, I found that some things I had grown up with or within did not necessarily fit my new perspective on life. And these things were from both the Western and Lebanese cultures I had grown up in. Where did I fit now? I had long ago decided that I was not "Western" and had reconciled myself to the conviction that I was just as multi-cultural and complicated as every other Lebanese person, and, like the rest, in my own way.

So if we try to define Lebanese culture, the Lebanese people, and Lebanon, what do we get? In light of the ever-growing conflict in the region and in Lebanon, loyalties and localism has become an issue of debate, to me at least. A woman on TV stated in a rage that "We are more Lebanese than they are," stemming from the grounds that being Lebanese is something specific to what she believed. Certainly, this shows loyalty but does this statement reflect Lebanese-ness? People seem to identify with each other and the nation in Lebanon in several ways. Ask any person what they are, and they will declare with a sense of pride and defiance that they are Lebanese. This form of loyalty is inspiring, but if we look into it, it seems bare. Why are you Lebanese? Because I was born in Lebanon. Lebanon was part of something much larger not too long ago and then lines were drawn by the French and English to delineate its borders. Unless they had some divine knowledge of where a certain culture ended, then these borders are just confusing.

It seems, from the general structure of government we have been struggling with, that being Lebanese means close to nothing. People do not identify with the nation, because identifying with a nation means believing in a singular national narrative that unites people, even if it has to be made up. Look at the United States. Nothing joined the separate colonies together, but they forged  national narrative and defined themselves by what they were not: French or English. Regardless of whether this was good or bad, it was effective. And the point behind it is that people living in a certain nation have loyalty to that nation and to each other as a group. We do have a narrative that circulates, that being Lebanese mean diversity, but when it comes down to it, people define themselves against each other, the other types of Lebanese rather than identifying as one large group. Like, we the (Muslim/Christian/Druze) of this sect and this area are better at being Lebanese than they are.

Where do people's loyalties lie? They are obviously sectarian and not a single drop more. No one is interested in the well being of the nation, no matter what speeches they make. People don't vote for officials because they will help develop the nation. They vote for them because they are "one of us." And democracy is built, if nothing else, on diversity. But this isn't diversity. This is a blind and tribal devotion.

Fine, let's say that this is not what defines a nation. What else? Language? We gave up on that a while ago. How about culture? Okay. According to the glorious Wikipedia, "The Lebanese people (Arabic: الشعب اللبناني‎ / ALA-LC: al-sha‘ab al-lubnānī, Lebanese Arabic pronunciation: [eʃˈʃaʕb ellɪbˈneːne]) are a nationand ethnic group of Levantine people originating in what is today the country of Lebanon, including those who had inhabited Mount Lebanon prior to the creation of the modern Lebanese state."

Wait, what? Let's give them another chance... "The cultural and linguistic heritage of the Lebanese people is a rich blend of both indigenous elements and the foreign cultures that have come to rule the land and its people over the course of thousands of years." A rich blend? Meaning what? What is it? Do they all speak a rich blend of languages? No. Are they all influenced by the same foreign cultures? Probably. How is culture manifested then? By habits, tradition, etc.? Do we really have the same culture, though? If we ever did, a lot of it has been diluted by modern pervasion of culture and language. We listen to foreign music, watch foreign films, eat a lot of foreign food. It's not wrong, it just shows that the traditions we base our culture on are either no longer acted upon and they never really were united. From personal experience, my habits and culture don't really seem to match those around me. And neither do a lot of people's.

I watched a Karakella show recently, and towards the end, they sang about Lebanon. People went crazy with excitement, but I listened to the words and felt nothing. A year ago, I might have cried and cheered with the rest. But now I realized that nothing but the emotional wanting that I had to belong here made me feel Lebanese. My problem is that I began to realize that my identity as a Lebanese was not really much more than the fact that I was born here. And I'm not saying this to criticize but because I'm just worried. And I was raised by a mother who is the most patriotic thing to walk the planet. She bleeds red, white, and cedars. So it is not from a lack of being raised as Lebanese that I'm confused. But because I've been raised to feel proud of my heritage, culture, and nation that I'm confused. What is it exactly that I'm proud of? What is my heritage, culture, and nation?

We tend to get angry when faced with the question of our heritage, and a lot I think owes to the fact that we are still trying to build that heritage and the sense of belonging. We have built it so much on a sense of belonging to the land, that we forget that it also means a sense of belonging with other people. Not just the people of the same religion or the same sect. And that is a crucial aspect of what makes this nation so fragile and its people so bent on turning on each other. There is a sense of belonging but also a sense of "only those like me belong." But the question remains: What is that joins us? A Fayrouz song about the beauty of Lebanon and its resilient people paints an idealistic image, one we have of Lebanon but one that doesn't really exist. It's purely emotional.

Reading Diary: Love in a Headscarf

I haven't actually started reading, but this is the first time I read something of the kind, so it deserves a pre-reading post. To explain, at least, why. The genre of books under "World Literature" that discuss Muslim women, and specifically in novel form, have a generic stigma. They fall under the label of Muslim woman freeing herself from oppression or expressing her oppression, and they are represented (to me) by books like "Girls of Riyadh." They manage to combine the outdated and reviewed representation of the exotic, mysterious, and overly sexualized Arab woman, with the more contemporary image of the Arab Muslim woman as the meek subjugated creature, trodden on by Islam and Muslims. Not all books in this category do that, but the more popular and the ones that represent the category seem to.

The second reason my choice is an odd one is that I have gone by the unspoken rule of: I live here, so I don't want to read about it. It comes more from upbringing, education, and then life choices that I don't really read much "World Literature." Mostly because this external world this literature comes from is the one I live in and because I'm just used to reading American and British literature, mostly 19 century. Also, adding to my disillusioned view of the "Muslim Woman" category of writing, is my view of the Arab world category, especially when written by Arabs. If it's negative, I agree with the implementation of certain things as being inaccurate, but not the rest, and if it is positive, it is too nostalgic, exotic, and perfect that makes me revise what I see. I walk on the streets of Beirut, and I don't really smell the za'atar, greet the old man in traditional clothing with a huge smile, etc. (Maybe I should write about that topic at some point... because I'm digressing).

In both cases, reality and opinion struggle with what the novels represent. I'm giving this book a chance, however, not because it's pink, but because it seems to have more of a grip on reality but understands its conflict with idealistic imagery. If that makes sense. We'll see how it goes. And I'll update once I've read more than the first paragraph (which is good!).

The Covered, Niched, Opinionated, and Ignored. Part 1

There are a lot of things hanging on being from the Middle East. An Arab from the Middle East. A Muslim Arab from the Middle East. Not that it matters either way, once the veil is on, the personality is out, individuality is gone, and my voice is dismissed as that of the poor oppressed who needs to be saved.

There is a lot of understanding in the world, I've learned, and people will surprise. But they mostly do it on an  individual level. People will be nice, they will be understanding, and they may even have that moment of "Huh" when they realize that I'm educated, that I'm not necessarily looking for a domineering husband, and that this thing "on my head" is a choice (and a lot more than a thing on my head alone, but more on that later).

And I'll repeat: there are a lot of understanding people, and a lot of people who do not have a flat, unforgiving view of the veiled woman, but it's difficult to escape the dominant narrative, and even I have the knee-jerk reaction of "ugh, a hijabi" sometimes. But then I come back to reality and realize that I'm one of those "ughs".

There's also a very particular "type" of hijabi that's seen, and a very particular narrative of the hijabi that's highlighted, and it's all a big mess. And these images, or stereotypes for lack of a better word, are very much tied to the person looking and the culture they come from. I've found myself battling my own demons as it were, and they come from different influences. They are Arab, Lebanese particularly, and Western, and they make come from Muslims and non-Muslims. Because of this complexity and because I have a lot of emotion regarding this topic, there will be several installment.

The modern society that the hijabi lives in around here has several views of her, making her severely oppressed and misunderstood. A combination of ultra-religious, selectively religious, traditional-but-thinking-it's-religious, cultural, and, now added to the blend, "Western".

These overlap and merge at times, but they generally work into creating several perspectives on the hijabi, even opinions that sometimes convince her.

This first representation is quite shocking, because it's so neutral a representation, so white and present, that I've realized that not a lot of people see it. Plus, it shapes a lot of the other representations. And those who do see it, come under the "blind spot" of the rest of the world, so their opinions are mostly ignored. The people who understand the hijab and see the hijabi in real life, and in a realistic way.

Among the many prejudices, stereotypes, and patriarchal tidbits that hover over us, at least in this part of the world, is the image of the hijabi in traditionally-set Arab (or just Middle-Eastern?) culture. Many people who have interacted with us have come to understand that we are not, in fact, hiding our brainless globes under a piece of cloth. Others, however, stand behind this remarkably invisible but extraordinarily thick veil of their own. Men and women who live in the semi-material, semi-Islamic state of the modern Middle East seem to be the most stereotypical of all. And more stereotypical than them, even, is the religious, the traditionally religious, and just about everyone else who identifies as Muslim.

The hijabi is, first, a backwards, uneducated, bedraggled thing. I have been told, by a Muslim Lebanese, that she had thought all hijabis disheveled, uneducated slobs (who, obviously, wait at home for Mr. Right, the domineering solid block they so admire). And it's not uncommon. I was raised in the middle class Muslim part of Beirut, Muslim and even leaning toward more religious than not. And I have known many hijabis in my lifetime. But for a very long time, my first reaction at seeing someone veiled, was that she is probably uneducated and backwards. And it's very typically cultural. One explanation I've managed is that because Islam was at some point separated from reality, not allowed to move forward with it as people stuck to tradition and accepted modes and rules, while the world passed them by, the hijabi, as a person and an image, got stuck in the past too. Because they physically manifest something people associate with the past (and it's their own fault). So people who wanted to move forward, shed the veil not because it was not adaptable to modern life, but because it was a symbol of an unmovable past.

A wonderful representation of this sort of prejudice is the modern tendency practiced by, many of which are run by Muslims: and that is refusing to hire veiled women. This is shocking to me, and infuriating, because it assumes that hijabis are drab and stupid. And people who argue about "presentation" and "acceptability," come on, look around you. I work in an American institution, and as far as I can see, they don't care if I put a live animal on my body as long as I do my job, do it well, and respect everyone.

And that is what's missing. Respect. Hijabis are dismissed as inferior, stupid, and unworthy in a lot of sectors of this society because they choose to follow their religion. And their religion does not call for them to kill the people around them or spit on them; it tells them what to do with themselves, and they, whether from conviction or because they are forced is not the issue here as it is not within the employer's jurisdiction, choose to dress modestly. They are educated, civilized, devoted... basically human. Some are rude, some are gorgeous, some have five piercings underneath their veil. Who cares. Do they look presentable? Do they show up on time?

Hijabis are prevented, in this sector of prejudice, from being anything more than a representation of a flasely conceived past, which is tied to backwardness and lack of civilization. They are dismissed and shunned because they choose to abide by something that, apparently, some people see as backwards. But the thing is that these people are actually looking towards the past, seeing their religion as something of the past, and seeing it as it was before, not as it is now. The basic principles of Islam are the same, but people are people, and they move forward with time. Some people, however, seem to be stuck in the past, and in this case, the unforgiving, unwilling to look at reality, are not the hijabis, but the people who refuse to see them as they are: just people living in a modern world. They view the hijab as backwards and then apply a label on people. The view itself is wrong and it is tied to what they know of tradition, rather than to what they can see of reality. Extremism is, here, dear readers, for once, linked to the anti-religious, unrelenting culture.

Film Review: "Mirror Mirror"

Snow White has always been my least favorite princess out of the Disney princesses. I'm not sure why but it might be a combination of not having watched the cartoon much as a child (because it was one of the few we didn't actually own), and because I felt she was the weakest one, very frail and dependent. The rest are all dependent, but she was whiny and too much of a princess, I suppose. Oddly, this year has been a great one in terms of my relationship with this character. It started with the character of Snow on Once Upon a Time, in which Snow is a fighter, a rebel, and not just because she's been moved to the modern world. We see her development, and how she learns to become dependent, because otherwise, in the fairy tale world we all know, it doesn't make sense for her to just be independent when she was raised as a princess. In any case, I began to like this Snow White and watched other adaptations of the story.

Then I realized that there were two movies coming out this year. And I didn't watch any. When Mirror Mirror came out, everyone advised me not to watch it. The reviews were bad, people who took their kids wanted to gouge their eyes out, as did the kids, and the face of Julia Roberts as the Evil Queen just put me off (I like Roberts, don't get me wrong). And I was really busy at he time.

I decided to watch it this week, just because I tend to need distractions while working, and the kind of work I have been doing needs a lot of concentration, which means a lot of distractions as well. And I was quite pleasantly surprised. I had braced myself to feel bored and have to get back to work at some point, but I wasn't. I'm a huge fan of The Fall, and I think the two movies are similar in the over-the-top oddity that they present. And that might be why people didn't like the movie. There are other movies that are weird, like Alice in Wonderland, the Tim Burton version (which I didn't like because I don't understand how the interpretation of the book has moved in this direction). And people liked this adaptation, but that's what we expect from Burton and Alice I suppose. But I think that we don't want our fairy tales changed too drastically. Especially old classics like Snow White. But I really found the ridiculousness appropriately part of the setting and atmosphere. Especially in contrast with Snow White.

Ah, Snow White. She's the typically transformed pro-feminist character, which has tended to annoy me because the only point is to make the female as strong of a woman as possible while still stunning and ridiculously feminine. But Snow White in this is different and contrasting, in appearance and character. And the Prince is not as one-dimensional as he usually is. And the Queen is just marvelous.

This is not much of a movie review because I'm bad at them and I watched this movie a few days ago. But the point is, I guess, watch it, and don't suspend your disbelief. Accept the fakeness of the entire thing and embrace it. It's part of the story.

Eid Fitr Mubarak!

My vow to write continuously has stopped short due to the end of Ramadan and three days of Fitr holiday!! Eid brumblings to come later. But I shall live you with my best wishes and... this:

This is in Egypt, but this is the same thing we wake to every Eid. Even though Ramadan is over, this takbeera  makes everything feel wonderful.

Back... because I've had thoughts

I haven't really appreciated the value of the combination of things that this blog offer: publishing without readership. There are a lot of things that have gone unwritten or incomplete because I have thoughts, but I don't want to write them and leave them on my computer, and I don't want to write them for all my friends (an arguable term, I know) to read, because, just, no. But, at the same time, writing! What is more fulfilling, more organizing than writing, and writing about things that matter to me. Not a diary, not a research paper, but the things that struggle to make sense of the world around me, and fail, because I haven't written. And then when someone says something that answers those thoughts, and I scream inwardly at the excitement of it all, my brain struggles to remember, to make sense, because I had never been able to think them through, to figure them out by seeing them before me, rather than just having them bounce around inside my head.

So, I've decided. Writing. It's always been here, and now I'm using it. Because I can publish, and no one will read. But it matters that they're here. Organized., not dumped in folders, in my computer or brain, and not posted as a note that's definitely going to be pretentious because I know who will be reading. Here, I don't know who will be reading, or if anyone will. So here goes.